


She Left Me

by kittykatknits



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, R plus L equals J, allusions to past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Based upon the following Tumblr prompt:  "Can anyone write a fic where Sansa Stark get sick of all the mistreat and bullshit of this “family” and leave in the quiet of the night and Jon realize he’s been dumb all along"This is set after 7x6 but BEFORE 7x7 and is spoiler free.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of those who I talk too about my writing know one of my rules. It shouldn't happen again.

In the years Sansa spent away from Winterfell, the memory of home became her strength. During the long nights she spent in her bed atop Maegor’s Holdfast, she would paint a picture in her mind of what awaited her, if only she could find a way to escape her prison. Some nights, Sansa imagined herself looking up from her needlework in her mother’s solar to see a small figure moving amongst the gargoyles of the first keep. Others, she struggled to remember the wet slap of Arya’s snowball as it hit her chin. **  
**

Eventually, Sansa found herself passing through the kings road gate only to find strangers who turned Winterfell into a cruel and alien place. Once more, she found strength from the pictures in her mind. This time, the pictures were of the Stark dead. In the chill and quiet of an empty room, Sansa could feel her mother’s brush moving through the strands of her hair, she could hear the deep voice of her father as he shared tales of the kings of winter around the hearth. Often, she thought of Robb and the last time she saw him, her true knight with snowflakes in his hair. Only, her knight did not rescue the maiden.

Now, as frozen death lay to her north and living fire to the south, Sansa confronted a harsh truth. Winterfell would always be her mother and father and Robb. It would always be little Rickon who never had a chance to live at all. But, Winterfell was the past. In two days, a foreign queen would pass through its walls and she would lose all she had struggled and bled for. Sansa could not endure it.

“I saw you take breeches.” Bran looked at the heart tree rather than her. Sansa once attempted to jest with him, asking if the tree would speak. Bran only replied that it showed, not talked.

He spent most of his time in the godswood, returning to the hall or his rooms to eat and sleep, with one lone exception. The night Jon first returned to Winterfell, the two of them spoke for hours behind a locked door. Every day, Sansa made a lone trek to the godswood to sit and speak with Bran. She had been determined to find some of the sweet boy they all once knew. But, it was a fool’s journey and this day would be her last.

“Will you tell him?” He wouldn’t, Bran did not care.

“She will be here in two days, there is still so much for me to see,” he said tonelessly.

Sansa blinked and drew her chin up. “Goodbye Bran.”

“Goodbye Sansa.”

She pulled her hood up and gathered the folds of her cloak close to her body before leaving a raven to his weeping tree and visions. Sansa walked through the frozen godswood, past the snow covered pines and ash trees until she entered the courtyard once more, surrounded by the activity of Winterfell life. Sansa ignored it all, pretending not to hear the calls of her name, and made her way to the battlements.

On the walls, the wind grew cold and fierce, whipping against her body. To the north, a great army gathered. A second one marched from White Harbor and would add its tents and baggage trains to the host beneath her.

“It seems we are fated to always find each other here.” Jon appeared next to her, wearing the same cloak she’d given him the day they departed from Castle Black.

“We both feel the need to escape sometimes.”

“Arya showed me this.” He began to unroll a small scrap of parchment. Sansa did not need to read the words to know its message.

“I’m sure she did so straightaway.” Sansa refused to offer an apology or explanation. Her sister was the second person to point a dagger at her in the place she once called home. She intended it to never happen again.

“She accuses you of plotting treason, says you indulge our lords.” His voice was weary and strained. Sansa pulled back the edge of her hood to better study him. The rest of his features were much the same.

Sansa noticed he kept the evidence of her long ago treachery rather than tossing it on the pyre. “I expect she told you a great deal else. Will you be placing me on trial or has the sentence already been passed?” She was guilty of a great many things, preparing to feed their people, keeping his army loyal, readying the castle for a siege. Sansa had women knitting woolen socks and bandages and sewing fur cloaks. They could not all take up archery and sword training, she was guilty of that treason as well.

Jon’s lips twisted in pain, he believed every tale her sister uttered. “We will not be fighting this war, not now. You and I have barely spoken since I returned.”

“We have nothing to speak of.” He already shared the one piece of information that mattered, everything else faded to insignificance by comparison. Jon took away all she held dear, Sansa no longer belonged in Winterfell. She no longer wanted to be in Winterfell. He did that and she had not yet found it in her to forgive him.

“We do. Bran has shared many things of concern with me. I hoped you would join me in my study tonight so we could speak together, alone.” For a moment, Sansa would have sworn she saw yearning in his eyes but she dismissed it.

“Tonight?” She would not.

“Did you know Tyrion Lannister asked after you. He spoke kindly, Sansa.”

Her breathing drew sharp and Sansa  pushed away a snarl of anger. She’d been suspicious of his need to speak with her. No longer, she knew what he wanted.

The old gods were cruel gods. If they were other people, in another life, Sansa could imagine very different fates for her and Jon. Instead, he bent the knee for two dragons, giving the third to their enemy. He bent the knee and she lost all.

It was past time she go. “I can not speak with you tonight, Jon, forgive me. Tomorrow morning, after the council meeting with your lords. I will go straight to your chambers.”

Sansa would swear the same yearning returned to his eyes. She almost expected he would demand a vow of her. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Goodbye, Jon.” She turned sharply, leaving him.

“Good bye, Sansa.” Her name was faint. If he said more, the wind stole it away.

She quickly escaped to her rooms for one final task before going to the stables. The horse was already saddled and ready, expecting a journey to winter town as was her usual routine. Instead, Sansa quietly rode past the kennels and out the hunter’s gate. The area was sparsely populated and that particular gate received little traffic, it was ideal for her needs.

She rode for only a short while before stopping at a tree. A large saddle bag rested on a low hanging branch. Sansa opened it, sliding out the old pair of breeches Jon lent her so long ago at Castle Black. She pulled them on before tying the front. Her bag contained additional clothing, coin, and some food. Once she was further from Winterfell, Sansa would risk stopping at an inn, but not yet.

She walked next to her horse, leading it through the wolfs wood, past the sentinels and bare oaks. It did not take long until he found her as she knew he would.

“Ghost.”

The direwolf was as silent as he ever was but Sansa always found a way to communicate with him all the same. “Ghost, I need your help.”

*****

Jon sat on the dais in the great hall, Davos to his right. Arya stood some distance away, silently watching over the proceedings. He still loved her, dearly, but the girl he once knew was gone, replaced by someone very different.

The hall was full of men and more than a few women. Every bench and table filled with those from the north and the Vale. Sansa had done all he asked of her and more. Jon spied Manderly and Locke knights, members of the hill clans, men at arms from Glover and Forrester, and soldiers from Bear Island with their Lady. He saw cloaks with the Royce sigil, many more with Arryn, a few Hunters and Templetons, and others he did not recognize. Sansa would have.

“We should start, your Grace.”

“Another minute, Davos.” Sansa had not yet appeared, he needed her.

More time passed and still no Sansa. The low murmurs of the hall turned into a quiet roar. After further urgings, Jon gave in and began the council meeting. A sense of disquiet pooled low in his belly. He did not miss the smirk of satisfaction on Arya’s face over her sister’s absence.

As the meeting wore on, Jon asked Lady Brienne to look in on Sansa’s chambers. The disquiet grew to a nervous flutter. His stomach twisted in pain when she returned.

“Did you see her in the courtyard or my chambers?”

“I’m sorry, your Grace, I did not look in on your rooms.” Brienne bowed her head in apology.

“Something is wrong,” he said gruffly. Jon curtly dismissed his banner man before racing towards his chambers, whispering a quiet prayer to the gods. His words were in vain, his solar stood empty. The hearth fire warmed the room and a pitcher of ale awaited him. Jon ignored them both.

“Your Grace? Jon?”

He turned at the deep voice of concern. Brienne, Davos, and Arya framed the doorway. Two of them appeared distressed.

“She should be here. She swore it to me.” He breathed deep in an attempt to ward off panic. “Something happened to her, I know it.”

“Or maybe she did you a favor and left on her own, we should thank her,” Arya dismissed.

“Enough,” he said sharply. Traces of anger from the previous day were still with him. Arya’s accusations were bitter and cruel. And all of them false. “Davos, will you begin a search of all the Winterfell grounds? Every room and storage closet. The kitchen and the stables.” A chill went through him, he did not think she could be there. “Even the kennels.” Sansa avoided the kennels, ever since their first night after reclaiming Winterfell.

His advisor quickly left to do as requested. Arya strode out after him, probably for her sword dancing. Jon did not consider asking for help, she would refuse.

“Brienne, did Sansa offer any hint to you that she planned to leave?” He asked anxiously.

“No, your Grace. I have not seen her since yesterday.”

Jon knew Sansa made a point to visit the soldiers every day in the encampments. She could tell him the names of their wives and children, where they came from, their interests, and secret longings for home. He’d seen more than one man gaze at Sansa in adoration.

He began to pace and flex the fingers of his right hand. It made no difference. “Take the household guard and search the soldier’s camp and the winter town. Every tent, whether from the Vale or the north. Same in the winter town, every shop, every home, no exceptions.”

Brienne began to do one of her proper little bows. It only served to enrage him. “Go! Go! Find her!” His voice was harsh and cruel.

Finally, Jon was alone in his chambers. The only sounds to be heard were his ragged breaths. Sansa had been hurt the previous day, he’d known it then. Jon could not help but think if he’d spoken to her on the battlements, of Bran’s truths and his hidden wants, she would be with him now. He should have. He should have bared his soul.

With a child’s hope, Jon left his rooms to make his way to the lichyard. Sansa came to visit Lady at times, he’d found her there once or twice before. He stepped into the old court yard but he was alone. The snow reached past his boot, wetting the bottom of his breeches and cloak.

“Where are you?” He whispered.

Sansa’s musical voice did not answer back. Jon left, his body moving without any sort of instruction from his mind. Somehow, he found himself in front of the entrance to the lord’s chambers. His fingers stroked along the old wood before he opened it. The hinges creaked as the oaken door hit grey stone.

Her room was abandoned, Jon had expected no different. He strode towards the bench by the empty hearth but did not sit.

“Your Grace?”

“You can stop the searches, Davos. She isn’t here. We won’t find her.”

“Jon.”

He looked back at Davos. “You heard me. Stop the search, she doesn’t want it.” His friend did not move. “Do it,” he barked

Jon sat on the hard bench.  There was no note or words but he didn’t need them. Next to him rested a cup full of ale and the wolf dress she wore the day they left Castle Black together. Sansa wore the same dress when she first called him a Stark. He picked it up, letting his fingers trace the detailed stitching. He’d been in awe of her skill and full of pride over his cloak.

Sansa left him and she wanted him to know it. This message was deliberate.

Jon waited until he heard the door shut, signaling he was alone, before letting quiet sobs wrack his body. His shoulders shook and his face twisted as tears fell down his cheeks. Distantly, Jon noticed the passing hours as the sky turned from amethyst to navy to black.

He slapped away the hand shaking at him. “Sansa, is that you?”

“Sorry, no. Jon, our queen is here. You need to get up now.” Davos spoke soothingly but it did not help.

He stood, noticing the sun streaming through the window. Jon could see dust floating in the air.

“Was she found?” He already knew she was not.

“There was no trace of her,” said Davos apologetically.

He nodded sharply. Too soon, Jon stood in the courtyard awaiting the arrival of Winterfell’s guests, Bran by his side.

“I thought she would come back.”

“Did you see her? Tell me if you saw her,” he begged.

Bran focused on him. Jon was struck by the memory of the sweet boy he’d once been. “She took Ghost with her. I thought she would come back when she started crying.”

Jon looked towards the main gate. Tyrion, Grey Worm, and Jorah were crossing the drawbridge.

“Where is she, Bran? Please tell me.”

“Jon.”

He ignored Davos. “Bran,” he pleaded.

“South. She went south.”

Jon reeled. “I have to go.” As soon as he spoke the words aloud, he knew there was no choice to be made. “Davos, see to our guests.”

“You cannot go,” the man hissed.

“I’m sorry.” Jon struggled with an answer. A silver-haired woman began to cross the drawbridge, her smile confident and assured. “I have a promise to keep.”

Jon stepped through the crowd of people in search of the stables. He needed to find his queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into a 3 chapter story. oops...

Jon pushed through the masses, ignoring the growing rumble of voices as his departure was noted. He set a stable hand to fetch him food from the kitchens while selecting a black courser. It’s strength and speed were ideal for his journey. Sansa lacked his skill at horse riding, she would have taken a slower beast.

He rode through the hunter’s gate, passing the two guards who took little notice of his departure. Jon kept the horse to a walk as he entered the wolfswood. Silence surrounded him, broken only by the dry crunch of his horse as it moved through the newly fallen snow. Above him, the ash and chestnut trees were stripped of their leaves, their branches now covered with snow. There were no deer or elk tracks. No evidence of bears or rabbits. The wolfswood stood empty, as empty as he was.

Circling wide of the castle grounds, Jon led his horse to the kings road and pushed it to a gallop, taking them both in the only direction he knew. South. South, to Sansa, wherever she was, whatever destination called to her. South, to the woman he promised.

Jon rode, down the kings road, avoiding the snow drifts and overgrown branches, ignoring the stray traveler with their worn drays and ox carts. He felt under a compulsion, pushing his horse as much as he dared. In the quiet, Jon swore he heard the whispers of Sansa’s name, as if the woods spoke to him, pushing him forward. It was only a fool’s madness though. He needed her as she needed him, no matter what illusions she suffered under.

And so his day went, on and on, aways south, stopping only to let his horse graze and eat upon the foliage that still grew, and even a bit of dry snow. It was a risk, but Jon would catch her the next day, if his instincts were correct. The day continued until the sky turned from the dull gray of winter to lavender and amethyst as the stars began to blink awake, one after the other. He kept on, leading his horse, determined to continue a bit further, until the sky turned dark blue and then black as pitch. Jon led his horse off the kings road to prepare for the night ahead. He ate stale bread and hard cheese before wrapping himself in furs and bracing for the cruel bite of cold to seep into his bones. Winter was here.

The next morning, he woke to find snow had fallen again during the night, laying thick and unbroken all around him. Drifting snowflakes brushed his cheek and chin and hair, awakening a long forgotten memory. Jon recalled one of Sansa’s stories of her time in the Vale. He tasted the snow on his lips. She said it tasted of her dreams, of home and Winterfell. Jon tasted a different dream, a dream of hope and promises fulfilled.

The day continued as the one before, he rode south, stopping once or twice to rest and feed his horse. The sun rose in the winter sky, breaking through the clouds,  telling him the day was more than half past. Jon slowed to a trot.

An hour or so later, he spied the horse tracks leading east of the kings road and then back before disappearing into the tree line once more. Sansa rode a rounsey if Jon guessed right, although he lacked the skill with horses Theon once had. It made no matter, he still knew more than she ever did. He also knew the wolfswood, had ridden through it to hunt and track since the day he first picked up a bow. Jon dismounted, his boots stepped ankle-deep through the snow but he heard no sound until the murmur of a woman’s voice reached his ears.

Sansa wore a plain gray dress, suitable for a merchant’s daughter. Or a lord’s bastard. The fur cloak, though, Jon recognized it very well. It matched the one on his shoulders.

“Are you eating enough, sweet one?” Her voice had a lightness to it, an ease he so rarely heard. It pained him, listening to her.

“Aye, she is, or you would be much further from Winterfell.” His suspicion was right. Jon knew Sansa, better than anyone, more than she realized. The knowledge brought him no joy.

She drew her hood up before facing him. “Jon Snow,” Sansa said sharply. “Forgive me, I’d hoped not to see you so soon.”

The snow stopped.

“Did you think no one would follow you?”

“Someone, perhaps. Not you.”

Her answer confused him. Sansa spoke as if she did not truly believe any effort would be made to find her. As if her absence would go unnoticed, or worse, as if no one would care. Jon suspected it was the latter even if he did not understand why. “How could I not?” She said nothing. “How could I not, Sansa?”

“I cannot say, Jon Snow,” she said flatly.

Her use of his full name rankled. It felt like she wanted to create a distance between them, by word and deed. Sansa denied him the intimacy they established, he was not her Jon, not the one she trusted. “I made you a promise.”

“So you did.” She stepped closer to her horse, preparing to mount and ride away. “I release you of your promise. I have no need of it.”  The rest went unsaid, she had no need of him.

Jon disagreed. “It’s not safe for you to be here alone.”

Sansa drew her gaze upwards, studying the trees above her, inspecting every branch and limb. “Tell me, what should I be frightened of? The bare ironwood here? Or it is it the needles to be found on all the pines?” He did not know how to respond. “It makes no matter, I am protected. Ghost is with me.”

As if hearing his name, the great dire wolf appeared, his white fur blending into the snow beneath them. Tiny droplets of red and brown decorated his mouth, Ghost had hunted not so long ago. Jon worried his old friend would refuse to acknowledge him or even view him as a threat. It was possible the beast no longer trusted him either. However, Ghost seemed satisfied his two human companions were safe. He quietly strode away. Their talk did not concern him.

“You should not have left as you did.”

“I should not have refused to consult with those I claim to trust above all and then be gone for a great length of time, with little care or concern for those left behind. Very wise advice, Jon Snow.”

“I…that is not what I did.”

“Indeed.”  She did not believe him, he could see it.

“You no longer trust me.”

“And you never trusted me at all.” She mounted her horse.

Jon ran towards her, tightly gripping her ankle to prevent an escape. The wind lifted her skirt the smallest amount. It was little more than a winter breeze but it was enough. “You’re wearing my breeches. The ones I gave you at Castle Black,” he said, surprised.

“They were convenient.” She pulled at his hand, trying to get him to release her. Jon refused.

“How can I get you to come home with me?”

She did not give an immediate answer. Jon started to feel a small hope. “To what, Jon Snow? A sister who wishes to kill me and a brother who wouldn’t notice?”

He was a fool. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Jon thought of his last exchange with Arya. He had no answer for her. “What of me? I have need of you.”

“No, you don’t.” More than she knew, he wanted to tell her. But, Jon kept his silence. Her eyes narrowed and, briefly, Jon though he’d reached her. He was wrong once more. “You don’t,” she repeated. “You have dragons and armies. There is enough food and grain. Armor and weapons. I set women and children training at arms as you asked. The winter town is full. Women who can not fight were set to prepare winter gear, bandages, and other items. Should it come to it, the small folk are ready to move south. It won’t though, you’ll win. You do not need me,” she finished sadly.

She was wrong, Jon needed her most of all. “You said I was a Stark, to you.” He sounded defeated.

Sansa’s lips drew flat. Jon steeled himself. She could wield her words more sharply than any blade he’d touched. “Did I say that?” His hand left her. “I can’t recall.”

She set her horse to a gallop through the trees and back to the kings road. Sansa left him for a second time. Jon felt the familiar cold of the dagger that once pierced his heart.

Jon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, red ones met his. “Ghost,” he said. “What have I done? Tell me what to do.” The snow came back, landing on the two of them. He had his answer. “Let’s go.” He mounted his horse and the two of them sprinted away, giving chase.

It took all of a couple minutes to reach her, he’d chosen wisely. Her smaller animal could not outrun his beast. Sansa did not try to escape him but she did not slow down either. He counted it a victory, small and tremulous though it was.

“Can you tell me where we are going?”

“We are going nowhere.” Sansa place a harsh emphasis on the first word. “I have my own destination. If you are wise, you will return to Winterfell.”

Winterfell, he noted. Not home. “South it is. I’d ask how long our journey will be but I suspect it’d be a wasted effort. It’s the wrong way for White Harbor and we already passed Cerwyn lands. Are we going to the neck or moat cailin? Or to your family in Riverrun, assuming we can find them?” Silence. She wouldn’t go to King’s Landing or the westerlands, he knew that. The Vale’s passes would already be closed. “It makes no matter, I’ll find out eventually.”

“Go back to Winterfell, Jon Snow.” His name again.

“No, Sansa. Where you go, I go. That hasn’t changed, no matter what you may say.”

She stopped suddenly, her mouth opening and closing in a way that made him think of a newly-caught fish. It was rare for Jon to witness Sansa without an easy response. She laughed. It was a bitter laugh. “You seem to think we were once together.” A drifting snowflake landed on one of her lashes. Sansa blinked and it was as if the flake never was. Jon misliked that.

“From the moment you came to me at Castle Black,” he said solemnly.

Her lips drew flat into a harsh frown. “You track me down, accuse me of not trusting you to a degree you deem sufficient, and make false claims of need. For all your whispered promises and demands of trust, you give nothing, Jon Snow. What protection have you given? What trust? You speak as if you need me but every action of yours prove that claim false.”

“I’m sorry,” he said numbly. “I trusted you to hold the north.” He trusted her with all his secrets too, as she did with him.

“And yet you gave it away so easily. You seem to forget Jon Snow. The north, to you, is the burden of ruling. For me, my body was the very battlefield it was fought over. Tell me, Jon Snow, how easy was it to give away? I’m curious, you certainly did not need my advice or trust my counsel.”

“Extremely difficult.” He didn’t expect her to believe that. The idea troubled him, it meant the trust he thought existed between them was even further eroded than he believed. “I want you to come home with me, Sansa.”

“No,” she said, her voice clipped.

“Will you tell me how I can convince you?” Jon had more questions, so many questions. He wanted to know how to rekindle the ease that once existed between them, how to ask for her help with all that was to come. He wanted to tell her he was afraid. He wanted to tell her a secret.

“The past cannot be changed.”

Sansa refused all further conversation after. She did not insist he leave but she made it clear he was not her traveling companion either. Jon was her shadow, a constant presence but so common it could be ignored. Or forgotten.

She veered east off the road as dusk settled over them, leaving him no choice to follow. Jon had expected her to travel further up, there was an inn less than a hour away, if he was not mistaken. She did not want to be seen, he realized. Sansa wanted to disappear. He wondered, as he had so many times that day, where she meant to go.

“Where are we going?” He repeated his earlier question to her as they dismounted next to a small group of pines. The sun has grown weaker but he could still see her features. Jon recalled the heart tree of Winterfell with its stern and fearsome face. “Not to the Reach with the Tyrells dead and gone. I wouldn’t think you’d go to Braavos alone. The passes to the Vale would be closed by now.”

She started at some past of his words, if only he knew which part. “South.”

Jon studied her in the fading light. Her hair was the color of a weirwood leaf and her eyes that of a blue winter rose. “You belong in the north. You belong with me.”

“I belong to myself.”

Jon wondered how she meant to keep warm, the night would bring the cold. As if in silent answer, Ghost appeared before leaning into her. It stung, visible evidence that Ghost was offering the protection she so adamantly refused from him.The dire wolf would see to her. Jon would be the one facing winter at night alone once more. Sansa curled up with the wolf, her cloak, and a fur to stay warm. He envied Ghost.

“Sansa, I have one more question for you,” he called to her in the scattered bits of gloom, just as the sky turned black. She disappeared then, the only hint of her location was Ghost’s white fur.

“Ask your question.”

“If the past cannot be changed, what of your future?”

“What do you mean?” Jon wished he could see her. For the first time since finding Sansa, Jon heard curiosity in her voice. Her response was not wooden or dismissive.

“Is this what you want? Truly? If it is, then we will keep on this road, south to wherever you wish to go.” He waited but she said nothing. Jon sensed that Sansa was listening, though. “If it isn’t, remember we put our faith in each other once more. Perhaps we could do so again.”

Jon’s sleep was restless and fitful. If he dreamed, he had no memory of it. He woke in the morning with his body stiff and sore. His limbs were cold, his fingers and toes frozen. Sansa was already awake, talking quietly to Ghost. He could not hear her words but she seemed relaxed, pleased by whatever the two of them spoke of.

“Will we be staying on the kings road then?”

He surprised her, she jumped ever so slightly before looking up at him through her lashes. Her hood was down, red hair framing her face. Snowflakes fell, one after the other, landing on the individual strands. She matched Ghost. A northern princess, he thought. A winter queen. “Last night, you asked what I want.”

“Tell me.” This would pain him, greatly.

“I want Bran to care for more than his trees and Arya to let go of the rage inside her. I want to be listened too.”

Sansa thought he didn’t listen to her, or, if he did, then she assumed he dismissed her after. It mattered though, her first concern was not for power or ruling, it was their family. She did not give up on them, Sansa believed they gave up on her. “It was Bran who set me to finding you. He saw you, likely he’s watching us now. As to Arya, I wish for that too. She gave me the letter you wrote while in King’s Landing, but you know that.”

“Evidence of my treason,” she said sharply.

Jon felt as if he was climbing the wall again, one step or grasp away from falling to the frozen earth below. “Ned Stark was alive when you wrote it. You wanted to save him, there’s no shame in that.” He searched for more to say. Jon wasn’t one for speechmaking. “Remember what I said of Tyrion?”

He chose poorly. Sansa grimaced and her body went stiff. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Is that why you sought me out? For your alliance?” She jumped to her feet before marching to her horse. Jon ran after. “I knew it,” she mumbled to herself. “You can’t trust anyone. Never again.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “What did I say? Tell me what I said,” Jon pleaded.

“I won’t be your pawn. I won’t do it, Jon Snow.”

“Do what?”

“Be married to Tyrion Lannister again.”

He released her. “Is that what you think? Why would you think that?” Jon did not need an answer, he knew. Because he went south and gave up his crown. Because he made the north part of the seven kingdoms again and brought Tyrion Lannister to Winterfell. Because he lost her trust, that most of all. “He admires you, nothing more. He thinks you smart. I suspect you have an ally, if you ever want to make use of it.” She would not look at him, casting her eyes at the forest floor below. “I saw Theon too, did you know that? His first words were to ask after you. I let him be for what he did for you.”

“How is he?” There was genuine concern in her voice, that did not surprise him.

“He’s…I didn’t think to ask.” He should have, for Sansa. Jon wanted to ask how to gain her trust again but there was no need. He already knew. “Tell me more of what you want.”

She blinked. “I told you, I want to know what I say matters. I want….I want my home back.”

“We can’t do that in the south.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. But, if that’s what you want, truly, we need to go back to Winterfell. Can I tell you what I want?” She slowly nodded. “A chance to earn your trust back. More nights where we talk until our eyes grow heavy and our wits dull. Someday, if you’re willing, a chance to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?

“You were right. I should listen to you. You aren’t the one that needs protecting, I think it’s actually the reverse.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Protect you?”

“I’m not one for politics, if you haven’t noticed. I never wanted to rule, Sansa. If we’re honest, the northern and Vale lords probably regret giving me the crown. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said solemnly.

They stood facing each other, close enough so their breath mixed together. Jon wanted to take her hand but he resisted. “Come home.” Sansa hesitated. “Give us a chance. If you want to leave, I will personally take you wherever you wish to go.”

“You should not have come to seek me out at all. I am only one person in your war, Jon.” Only Jon this time.

“You are everything,” said Jon, softly.

Sansa’s face went blank. She drew her chin up before looking past his shoulder. “Let’s go then.”

Jon released the breath he did not realize he was holding.

They lead their horses back to the kings road. This time, though, their horses pointed north. North, to Winterfell and home. To Bran and Arya, to Tyrion and Daenerys Targaryen. Most importantly, Jon hoped, another chance for them both.

Three mornings later, they left the road behind, to finish their remaining journey through the wolfswood, crossing the field that lay before the hunter’s gate. In the distance, the great castle of Winterfell rose before them, with its great gray walls and stone towers. The trees of the ancient godswood rose past the walls. Bran would be there, he knew.

“Walk with me.” They both dismounted, walking together between their horses. “Sansa, I need to tell you what Bran and I spoke of when I first returned.” He could not keep the tremor from his voice.

“What do you wish to tell me?” Weirwood leaves and winter roses, he thought again.

Jon lay one hand on each of her cheeks and waited for any sign of anger or discomfort. There was none. He kissed her, not on the forehead this time, but on her lips. It was sweet and tender but chaste too. It could not be mistaken for a brotherly kiss. “I won’t ever touch you again, not unless you tell me I can.” He released her. She did nothing, only waiting for him to speak. He swallowed, his stomach turned. “I have a story to tell you about my mother.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa pulled the edges of her cloak closer as an imagined chill went through her. She deliberately avoided Jon’s gaze, not wishing to give away any thoughts.

 Winterfell stood in the distance, a great structure of dull gray stone. It should have been Sansa’s sanctuary but it reminded her of a gaol. Her effort to escape failed, Jon took away the one place she thought to go but those passes were closed and would be for a very long time. **  
**

“Will you say something, Sansa?” She could not. “Your silence feels heavy. Will you at least offer a hint of what you are thinking?” Jon was worried, she could hear the growing anxiety with every word he uttered.

Sansa thought some small part of her hated him. She felt deceived. “I can not decide if I should offer you comfort or congratulations. May I ask why you chose to tell me now?”

“It’s easier to be brave with a sword in hand.” She would not know. “What congratulations would you offer? The truth has brought me no joy, at least none so far.” His voice grew bitter towards the end.

She tore her eyes from Winterfell to look on him. Jon had spoken true, she saw only misery and pain in his countenance. “It should, you’ve dreamed of the truth since you were a child. It may not be the answer you wanted but it is an answer and that is something very great indeed.” He was disappointed but there was nothing to be done for it. Sansa was not prepared to give more, either arms to comfort or a breast to weep upon. She could not do it, not yet. If Jon had told her earlier, she may have felt differently. “This is why you came to me on the battlements.” It was not a question.

“Aye. You are the first I’ve told.”

Jon meant to tell her the truth the day before his queen was to come to Winterfell. Now, he tells her when the gate lay only a short walk away. It was Sansa’s council he wanted, that much was clear. “Good. Tell no one else.”

“You don’t think our bannermen deserve to know?”

They are no longer his, she thought. Jon gave up his crown and betrayed all they fought to win back. “For what end?”

“I think you know,” he said, drawing out every word. She did, but Sansa was not ready for that particular discussion. “Very well,” he acquiesced. “We will do as you say. It will be for us to know. And Bran. Sam too.”

“Sam, your friend from the Night’s Watch?”

“The very same.” Jon lied then, she was not the first he told.

Sansa wondered what other surprises awaited her on the other side of those walls. She wondered how many would make her regret the decision to put her faith in Jon. All of them, she suspected.

“Shall we go?” Jon extended his right hand, palm up in invitation.

She didn’t know, taking his hand with her own conveyed a partnership, some level of trust. Sansa did not have any, only a fortune’s worth of broken promises. “To Winterfell.” She extended her hand, Jon sharply yanked it in his enthusiasm.

“To home.”

No, it was not but she said nothing. Only a field stood between them and Winterfell. A field of trampled and dirty snow. An army had crossed it recently.

Too quickly, they passed through the hunter’s gate, the same gate she escaped from not so long ago. The brief respite of the wolfswood was lost to her. Sansa was back in Winterfell, back to the sister and brother she lost. She did not want to be here.  Their entrance went largely unnoticed, at least until they arrived at the stables and Sansa spied a servant quickly scurrying away. Any chance of escape would be lost to her in only a few minutes.

The courtyards were filled with people, all of them strangers. Sansa did not know the men with their long braids and oddly curved swords. She did not know the others with their spears or the sigil on their wooden shields. All strangers to her, yet Sansa knew she was the one that did not belong.

“Your Grace, Lady Stark. We have been looking for you.” It was Ser Davos then who set out spies.

“Call him Jon, he has no title. That belongs to the queen now.” Jon frowned, hurt, but said nothing.

“We have a council waiting to discuss preparations for war.”

“Go,” she told Jon. “I wish to be alone in my chambers.”

“That’s not possible, Lady Stark, I’m sorry. The queen has taken them for her own.”

Sansa felt a cold anger grow in her belly. “Thank you for the information, Ser Davos.” She gave a small nod of her head. “I will see you both for supper in the great hall. Or has she taken my place there too?”

“No, she dines alone with her people.”

She left them abruptly, not trusting herself to say anything else. Sansa knew where to go.

“Wait. Listen.” A hand pressed on her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To the guest house.” You have made me a guest here, she wanted to tell him.

“I’ll fix this, let me show you,” Jon pleaded.

“How? I only had the one kingdom for you to offer up.”

“That was unnecessary.” She disagreed. “Go see Bran in the godswood. After, your chambers will be waiting.”

“And if you cannot?”

“My offer stands. Wherever you wish to go, I will take you there.” The fight left him then and it seemed as if Jon shrunk before her. “Please, Sansa.” She took note of the desperation in his eyes. Jon meant every word he spoke to her.

“If I wish to go to Dorne?”

Tension returned to his body. “I’ll arrange a tour of the Water Gardens.”

She nodded. Sansa was not willing to hope but she wanted too. “I will see you soon.”

He left her to go in search of Bran. Her younger brother was found in the very same spot Sansa saw him last. Bran sat in his chair, facing the heart tree, lost in its memories and visions. In the first few days after they reunited, Sansa wondered if he was given a gift or a curse. She still wondered.

“Hello, Bran.”

He opened his eyes, taking notice of her. “Jon brought you back.”

He was the same as before. She’d expected it but was no less disappointed. “A very clever observation from a man claiming to be the three eyed raven.”

Bran laughed. It was harsher and coarser than Sansa remembered, but underneath that, she could hear the sweet sound of his old childhood laughter. Even the heart tree, with its cruel face, smiled, sharing Bran’s enjoyment. Too soon it ended though and the heart tree returned to its usual forbidden expression. It had only been her imagination

“I saw you crying.”

Her first night alone in the woods. Ghost had come and leant her his warmth in the growing darkness. In exchange, Sansa whispered every fear and grief and hope to him. She told him every thought, no matter how small or selfish. The wolf listened patiently until she fell asleep, safely ensconced within the dire wolf’s protection. That night, Sansa dreamt of her family, her mother and father, Robb, and little Rickon. In her dream, it was high summer and the sun shone brightly overhead. The thick grass was the bright hue of emeralds. She called for each of them in turn but they did not hear. Sansa woke, with a wetness on her cheeks, to a gray sky and winter and Ghost’s comfort. “Is that what you told Jon?”

“He needs you.”

May I offer you some counsel, Brandon Stark?” She didn’t wait for an answer, there was no point in it. “In your efforts to save the world, don’t forget what you are saving. Elsewise, it will be gone when you finally open your eyes and take a look around.”

Her brother gave no response but it made no matter. She took a small measure of satisfaction in speaking as she did. Sansa left her raven brother to commune with the gods before venturing out of the godswood once more. In the distance, she saw Arya practicing with the Lady Brienne. Sansa pulled her hood up and stepped back into the wood’s shadow, not wishing her presence to be known. Her sister carried her sword with the same ease displayed by Jon yet there was a certain joy to it that contrasted sharply with his grim sense of responsibility.

*****

Jon found Daenarys with the rest of her advisors. He immediately noticed the lack of men from the north and Vale. He dismissed them all, ignoring their greetings and empty courtesies.

“You need to remove yourself from the lord’s chambers. Sansa prepared the largest suite of rooms in the guest house for you.”

Her expression went flat. “I chose the rooms that most suited the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Those are Stark rooms. This is not the south, your Grace.” Jon would have thought Jorah Mormont explained northern customs. Either the man did not try or he failed in his efforts. “We do not sit in thrones above our subjects. You may have the Iron Throne but it is Starks that rule here, not Targaryens.”

“My family has ruled for three hundred years.”

“And Starks have done the same for seven thousand. The north is loyal to them, not you.”

Her eyes flashed. “Must I remind you that you bent the knee, Jon Snow?”

He felt grateful they were alone. That question would have brought all of Sansa’s doubts between them once more. He knew she had little faith in all he’d told her. It was only her hope that bound her to him and it was still a slim hope. Jon suspected she would not even tell him if she planned to leave again. He would wake one morning to find her gone and she would take better care so Bran could not so easily locate her. It was her brother’s indifference she had relied on, Sansa would not repeat the mistake. “No,  your Grace.” His ill-thought action, born of desperation and guilt, weighed heavily on him. “I am trying to advise you on how to win the people to your cause. If you lose the Starks, you will never have the north.”

“My dragons would say otherwise.” That was a threat.

Jon did not think her dragons could save even her from poisoned wine or a knife to the back. She wavered dangerously close to the same mistakes of the Boltons and the Lannisters. Jon knew Sansa only had to speak the words and their bannermen would make her queen.

He sighed. “Eat and drink with them. Listen to their tales and ask for their service. Show them you are someone to follow and they will.” It was close to the same advice he once gave Stannis Baratheon, he wondered if she had the wisdom to listen. Stannis was not a northmen but he had a familiarity with the people she lacked.

“And your counsel is for me to give up my rooms for your sister?”

For his Sansa. “My counsel is to show respect for your people’s ways. This is not Essos, your Grace.”

“Very well. Have it done.”

Jon wondered if she would take her supper in the great hall that evening. He doubted it. Daenerys Targaryen was a truly great conqueror, as her ancestor before her. That was not the same as ruling a keep or sitting a throne. He wondered at times how much she would enjoy listening to endless petitions from her people or mediating a dispute over mills and bee colonies. Jon suspected very little.

He said none of this, only bowing and offering thanks before taking his leave with a promise for all of them to meet, with Sansa in attendance.

That evening, Sansa made her appearance in the great hall once more. Every knight and lord greeted her with all the deference due a queen. She was loved, as Jon knew she would be. It was winter and Sansa prepared for her people’s survival while the south continued with their game of thrones.

As the hour drew late and the hall emptied, Jon made his way to Sansa’s rooms and knocked before entering.

“You were expecting me.”

She sat by the hearth, her latest bit of sewing in hand. “How did you know?”

Jon removed his sword belt before coming to rest on a nearby chair. “You did not bar your door.” She smiled, the barest tilt of her lips in acknowledgement. “May I ask what you’re making?”

Sansa set the bit of cloth in her lap to look at him but Jon thought she saw something else, something only for her. “All of us, as we were long ago here in Winterfell. Before you left for Castle Black and Bran fell, before King Robert took his court here to the north. I had an image come to me today.”

“What was the image?” He asked, curious.

“Summer,” was her only answer.

Jon did not inquire further. “I kept my word, the lord’s chambers are yours.”

“You did, Jon,” she sighed. Jon studied the subtle changes on her face, the way her lips drew flat before she smiled, the way her eyes grew round. Sansa licked her bottom lip before her face stilled and her chin drew up. It was an expression meant to show courage but Jon knew it hid fear. “You once accused me of undermining you before you went south but you did the same to me. I felt a great fool when I learned what you did. I felt betrayed.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He broke her heart. Jon trusted her with what they both loved most dearly and he gave it up. Sansa didn’t hate him for it, if that was so there was no method short of tying her up that would have brought her back to Winterfell. “I told no one what we spoke of this morning. When do you want to do so?” It was an offering, a small one.

“When we have need of it.” She reached over to stroke the top of his hand. “When you are ready for the world to know and can bear all the consequences.” She understood then, he’d wondered earlier.

“I expected a stronger reaction from you.”

“Why is that? Your mother was a great secret all our lives and now we know why. I never doubted you were a Stark, you look more like one that I ever did.”

“May I tell you what I thought of the south?”

She gave a tremulous laugh. “Did you merely hate it or truly despise it?”

“You knew,” he said, surprised. Jon should not have been. “It was awful. Heat and sand every where. Why would anyone choose to live in those great cities?”

“You belong in the north.”

“So do you.”

She did not respond. “What will we be speaking of with your queen tomorrow?”

“You hold her in low regard.”

“I do not know her, but, I will confess, stories have made their way north.” None of them good, that part went unspoken.

“Am I considered a traitor by our people?”

Sansa looked at him sharply. “I would use a different word.”

“Abandoned, then.”

“Is this your way of avoiding my question?”

“No.” Jon was desperate for any bit of information or insight he could glean from her. He would keep his word, Jon would not touch her again but that did not mean he would not beg for any scrap she offered. “It was not deliberate. It concerns the north. She wants to know how to make our people follow her.”

Sansa snorted. “I have no words of wisdom to offer.”

“We prepare for battle. I will be leaving in a few days time.”

Her hands stilled. Jon sensed he had her complete attention for the first time since entering her chambers. “So soon. Are you frightened?”

“I would rather fight the dead away from you and I’m more than terrified.” He expected to die.

“You will win, I promise you.” She spoke with a level of solemnity that made Jon wonder if she could see into Melisandre’s fires.

Jon studied the flames in her hearth but they showed him no great insight. He felt only the heat and saw only burning wood. “If that happens, do you know what I wish for?”

“What would that be?”

“For our family to never step outside these walls and for everyone else to bugger off, never to be seen again.”

She giggled. “If the gods are good, perhaps that will happen.”

“If the gods are good,” he echoed. Even if they were, the gods were never kind.

Sansa took his hand, lacing their fingers. They sat together, the silence broken only by the occasional snap of the fire. Eventually, she could no longer hide her yawns and Jon was forced to retire to his own rooms.

The next morning, Jon woke early in search of his next task. He found Arya where he expected she would be, in the training yard with Needle in hand.

“Walk with me,” he ordered.

She looked at him, askance, but did as he wanted. “Where are we going?”

It didn’t particularly matter, “To the stables.” He glanced about, assuring himself they would not be easily heard. “This feud with your sister ends now. We can not fight a war amongst ourselves.”

“I was protecting you. You were our king, not her.”

“I wore the title, Arya,” he said tiredly. “It was both of us that ruled. If her and I could find our way to forgive each other, you can do the same.”

“Is that the way of it?” Arya stopped, refusing to take another step. “You cast one sister aside for another.”

“All the years we were apart, I missed you more than anyone, more than Robb or father or Sansa. You are my dearest sister and will always be so.” It was the truth, Jon felt no guilt for speaking as he did. His relationship with Sansa was something distinct from any other. “Stop accusing Sansa from some mistaken belief you are protecting me. We are here because of her. I’m still fighting because of her.”

“Are the two of you leaving again?”

“No, we are not.” Jon hoped he gave an honest answer or else he would soon be choosing one promise to keep over another. “I will be leaving in a few days, north.”

“I can fight too, Jon Snow,” she said fiercely. He was struck by the memory of Arya as she was so long ago. Her face was always covered in dirt and her hair a mass of snarls.

“You want to go?”

“I’ll never be a Lady like Sansa.”

“Neither will I.” Jon mussed her hair, for the first time in years. “Make peace, Arya. We only have a few days to be a family again, before you and I need to go.”

*****

Sansa did not know if she should laugh or weep when first confronted with Daenerys Targaryen’s council of advisors, two were from Essos, one a slaver, and the fourth a known kinslayer from the most hated family in the realm. Only one of them could truly advise her on the north and he wa a man so besotted, Sansa doubted the value of his wisdom.

Most of the talk was of war,which meant she had little to say of value. Sansa had many glimpses of these Dothraki though, their horses would suffer greatly as Jon marched them closer to the wall. Most of them would be dead within weeks. It was the northmen’s garrons that would provide his cavalry in the end. She said none of this, sensing her opinions would be little appreciated by those present. Jon would already know all this besides.

The mention of Cersei Lannister did raise her curiosity. “A truce? And she agreed?”

“She agreed to do nothing while we fight our battles here,” said Tyrion. “The south stays neutral, for now.”

Sansa studied Lannister closely, looking for any clue, any hint of hidden plans or secret agenda. “Cersei agreed to stay neutral?” She doubted it. Either Tyrion Lannister had grown stupid in their years apart or Cersei was a completely different woman than Sansa once knew.

“She gave her word,” said Jon.

“She lied,” Sansa bit out. “Either she has an army marching to attack now or she will be doing so very soon.”

“You said she could be trusted.” The queen’s voice made Sansa think of the beasts in the skies above them.

“If we do not win, she has no kingdom to rule over.”

She disagreed. “Her children are dead. She does not care.”

Sansa said nothing else. If the plan was to burn this army, she could not stop it. Jon had made her a subject of this woman and there was little to be done for it. She knew it would be years before the pain of his act would truly leave her but she would support him, in public at least. Alone, a part of her wanted to make him hurt.

The next evening, they sat together in the great hall, ignoring the din of people around them.

“You spoke to Arya.”

Jon took a sip of his ale. “How did you know? Did she apologize?”

“She did not,” said Sansa drily. That would be asking too much. “She said we were a pack and that was most important. That I ruled well.”

“It is a start. What do you think of the queen?”

Very little. “I do not know her.” Sansa could not bring herself to speak her darker thoughts. They shamed her. “Are you going to ask if I wish to leave?”

“Are we leaving tonight?”

“No, but I want too,” she admitted. “You have listened to me.”

I’m trying. I want to keep every promise made to you.” He’d promised never to touch her again.

They’d yet to tell his secret, it was for them alone, at least for now. One day, after Jon returned home to her, the time may come when all the north knew. “When you come to my room tonight, make sure you are not seen. My maid has already been instructed to leave me be in the morning.” She could not look at him or else her courage would flee.

Jon’s hand came to rest on his thigh, palm facing up. This time, when she took it, there were no gloves between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to finish this. 
> 
> If anyone is curious about my head canon while writing:  
> Sansa's plan was to escape to the fingers but she did not know the vale passes would be closed. They share a bed together only for one night before he leaves for several moons. When he returns, they slowly build their relationship and six or seven moons later, he proposes marriage. 
> 
> After this, I'll be doing a round of updates on my multi chapter fics.


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